


Peeper

by Blownwish



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Porn, Slash, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:32:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1264897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blownwish/pseuds/Blownwish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John thinks Sherlock is, at heart, a peeper. As he explains he also describes how he took Sherlock's virginity. </p>
<p>Written for the 24 hour challange comm, come_at_once, over at Livejournal. The prompt was, "Save it for a rainy day." Sort of got it right. (Hey, I had less than a day to shake and bake this thing. Cut me some slack...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peeper

He is, above all else, a voyeur. Not, well, the sort who peeps through your window. He doesn't need to do that sort of thing. He _observes_ better than most peepers, ah, peep. So there will be no Sherlock messing about in the bushes.... For that. (Well, I don't think so.) 

As I was saying...

Sherlock being Sherlock, he can't ever be obvious. He doesn't wear his voyeurism on his sleeve. It's, because of his nature, something he hides. A voyeur doesn't just peek in on people's lives. By definition he (or she) is titillated by the intimacy of their subject. I'm sure you can appreciate the level of social development (or lack, I should say) involved with certain voyeurs, like Sherlock. 

He will corner me, then pester me with his observations. The woman we just passed had a package of condoms, purchased at the chemist's down the street, in her purse. The man in that cab was late for a rendezvous with his gay lover, who lived in a council flat. One of his street people just serviced an American intelligence agent with fellatio in exchange for valuable state secrets. (Which Sherlock gleefully collected.) 

"People are so obvious. But especially where sex is concerned."

I wanted to get to my tea. Rather, the kettle so I could make some. It was cold and I was tired. All I wanted was some sort of caffeine. But would he move? No. Could I budge? Not without force. (And yes, it might've been necessary.) "You certainly seem to pick up on a subject which bores you." Sex bores Sherlock? Oh, please. It is private. It is often illicit. Of course he loves it. Loves observing people's most personal, intimate lives. 

"Don't be tedious." He rolled his eyes at me. "These details are not a stand on for a sex life of my own. They are vital bits of information." Vital because he can feel close to someone without being intimate with them. Sherlock pornography.

"Sherlock..." I glanced over his shoulder, at the oven.

"Yes, in a moment. You aren't experiencing caffeine withdrawals yet." 

"So, what else do I need to know? And please hurry."

"You were looking at the woman with the condoms." 

"Okay. And?" She was lovely, like a rose in that red skirt. I quite liked the way it shifted against her thighs. She was like a spring flower in winter. 

"She would have given you her number."

I needed my tea. Badly. "Are you asking me why I didn't pester a random woman I don't know? Seriously?"

He shrugged. "Why would I ask when I can observe for myself?" 

"Then rub it in my face. Because...?"

"You're slightly agitated. There are circles under your eyes, more pronounced than usual. You didn't bother to put on fresh pants. Those are the same ones you wore yesterday. More inattentive to grooming than usual. You haven't shaved. You're wearing more deodorant than your usual application. Over compensation. You haven't showered. You usually take a bath on days off. Your laptop, which is usually in the living room is in your bedroom, upstairs. You've been spending four hours and twenty minutes watching pornography."

I was beyond being embarrassed when he did this. But I did have my limits. "Boundaries." 

He narrowed his eyes. "She smiled at you. An obvious mating queue. And yet you demurred. Like a chaste little virgin."

He... he uses certain words for specific effect. I know that. Knew it at that point. I was not going to remind him who the virgin was in this flat. "Like I said: I don't know her. I have to actually talk to a woman before I decide if I am interested."

"But you were interested in sex. You are."

And there was the headache. "Sherlock..."

"Pinch the bridge of your nose and take shallow breaths to limit oxygen intake."

"Or have a cup of tea."

"You subconsciously noticed that and rejected her as a possible sex partner."

"No. I just told you why. Not subconscious. Come on!"

Rain started to tap the roof. It would freeze over by evening. Blasted ice! 

"It won't freeze. Your headache will stop. And no, you don't feel aroused simply because you learn a person's set of prerehearsed lies. Four plus hours of pornography says otherwise. Why?"

"Because I am here. With you." I was desperate for my tea. "It would have been awkward with you standing around."

He stepped aside. I took full advantage. 

"Honestly, Sherlock! You have no concept of psychological motivation. Bloody hell!"

"Oh?" He just stood there, _observing_ my tea making prowess. I was on a mission. 

"Oh." The gas popped on. I filled the kettle. And the Earl Grey was waiting for me, like an old lover, in the cabinet. 

He was mercifully quiet for a while. I nursed the cup and got another. Read the news on my cell as he sat at his laptop.

"What are you looking at? The blog again?"

"Porn."

"Excuse me?" I drained the cup. 

"Your porn. Not that I don't know what sort you prefer. I just wanted to see something."

"And what do you see? More things to 'bore' you?"

He smiled. Ah, that is always... a concern. "I thought so." He turned the screen around and there she was, my red rose, and several other ladies. 

"I didn't remember-"

"Consciously. And yet you responded. Typical." He turned it back toward himself. And kept watching. In front of me.

"And you're just going to keep watching sex vids I watched by myself. While I'm here. We do this sort of thing, now?" 

"Lesbian orgies, with a preference for oral." His eyebrow went up. "Heard from your sister, lately?"

"Oh, my god. Don't mention her in this context." 

He glanced up. "Ever wonder if you were gay?"

"No."

"Many women fantasize about same sex relationships between men in order to cope with their own same sex attraction. They otherwise identify as heterosexual. They do this via erotic fiction."

"Apples and oranges. And just who am I supposedly attracted to? You?"

He closed the laptop. "While you did find her erotic you did not approach her because I was there."

"So?"

"You had the object of your subconscious affection with you. But the strain of that inert understanding prompted a sudden need to assuage that oral fixation. Hence, tea."

"No. I needed caffeine."

"You had a fizzy drink half an hour ago."

"Look..." I began to pace. "I don't want you."

"Everybody wants me." He sighed. "I represent a male virginal archetype."

"No." I kept pacing. "I am not gay, for god's sake!"

He tapped the keyboard. "So, do you want to look at this next video, or continue with the over the top protestations? Never mind. You will watch."

I hate it when he does that. It feels like an order when it is just manipulation. But I did. And I saw myself.

In my bed. Last night. 

"You set up a camera? In my room?"

"Don't bother looking for the camera. I already moved it." 

Right. The part where I said he is not a peeper...? Let me qualify that. Sherlock Holmes is not, in most circumstances, a peeper. "You... Peeper!"

He made a face as if I told him he had jam for hair. "John, I am simply making my case."

"But you watched me."

"No, I was saving it for now."

"So how do you know-?" 

I got another _you just said I have jam for hair_ look. "You seem to think I know nothing of the human psyche. If I am wrong it is a simple matter of fact." He motioned toward the laptop. 

It showed me, well, enjoying my web surfing experience. "Okay, so what?"

I turned away. He grabbed my arm. "There." 

He paused the video at the point where I had turned my head. "Yes, I was listening to make sure you weren't awake."

Then the video damned me. It showed me leaning, cheek pressed against the drywall, eyes closed, laptop slipping away. Oh, good god. I was in my own pornographic video. The shot left nothing to the imagination. And I opened my eyes. (God, I remember doing this!) And stared at a picture. It was a newspaper clipping pinned to the wall. Of me. And him. I kept staring at it as--

"Turn it off!" I turned away and went straight for the door.

"No use running away from the truth." His voice was too loud.

"Sherlock, not another word."

"I don't need to. It is already out in the open."

I could not get to my room fast enough. 

\+ + 

Mycroft came by the flat while I was at work. I could tell because there were two cigarettes in a tea cup. When Sherlock smokes it is normally just one. And he was playing some obnoxious piece on his violin. 

"Hard day at the office?" 

He refused to acknowledge my existence and kept playing.

"I had a day. Not that you care." A broken leg. A baby with strep. Two grannies with hip fractures. "Any cases?"

He kept playing that damnable thing. 

"Nice talking to you." I turned around with the full intention of finding a nice pub with plenty of beer. 

"Watson." 

And that was all it took to stop me.

"Do you think I am a hopeless case?" 

"Mycroft left with some parting words of affection, I take it?" I dumped my sack in the middle of the living room. With my coat. 

"He said I am hopeless when it comes to you." He refused to turn around. "If I am... not careful when I talk to you it is because I do not think I need to be."

Then it dawned on me. "Dear god! Did you tell him about that insane theory of yours?"

"I don't have to tell him, John. Surely you realize that by now." He put the bow, then the violin down as if they were made of glass. His profile seemed, ah, pensive.

"Haven't you asked yourself why I felt the need to reveal my observations to you?"

"Because you're a voyeur. Of course."

He smiled and turned back to the window. Clasped his hands behind his back. "I do not want to remain so."

I stood there trying to understand. "Are you, um, do you mean-?"

"I've been aware of your situation for some time. And I have been waiting for you to resolve your anxiety in regard to your latent homosexual attraction to me. But you're too dense, so I forced the issue." He bowed his head. "I might have been aware of the tendency and its characteristics. But you were right. I really do not understand the human psyche."

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

"We both know what that headache is about. Go displace. Get your tea."

"To hell with tea!" I wanted to hit something. "I spent the last day convincing myself that I wasn't angry with you."

"Why?"

"Because, I don't know! The game!"

"John," he chuckled, "you might love the game but you never denied your anger with an excuse."

"But you're going to tell me it is because I fancy you." I crossed my arms and gritted my teeth. "Is that it."

He sighed. "Obviously."

"And now you're saying what?"

He just stood there with nothing to say.

"Right." So I left for the pub.

\+ + 

I came home stone sober. One beer over three hours is nothing. Three hours spent thinking over what he said was... well. Something. 

I put my money on the bar. 

It is best explained by describing what happened next.

I opened the door and there he was. Sitting at his chair doing nothing, as if he had been waiting all evening for me. Maybe he was? I have no way of knowing. All I knew was I had walked home in the cold rain. For this. For him.

"Is it true?" 

He just nodded as the freezing rain pelted our roof.

"And you're sure?" 

It kept raining. "I am tired of this, John. And I'm scared."

He looked forward, blankly, as I went before him and got on my knees. "You were right about my oral fixation."

He said nothing. He barely made a sound. And afterward, when he lay back in his chair, flushed and gasping for air, I laughed.

"What?" 

I didn't want to say it. Well, couldn't rightly since my jaw hurt.

"That was very nice." He ran a hand through his hair. "Relaxing." 

"Wait. I'm not done."

"Couldn't we do it some other time?"

I groaned. "Of course you'd be a selfish prig about it. Naturally."

He laughed again. "You're so easily frustrated." He got up and sauntered lazily toward his room. His pants slid off and he kicked them away as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Then he stopped. "Aren't you coming?"

"Only if you reciprocate." 

"Maybe I'll just watch."

"Like bloody hell!" I was suddenly up, grabbing his hand and pulling him in there.


End file.
